"No."
"You didn't fall off the street-car—did you?"
"You haven't happened to any sort of trouble—have you?"
"No."
The "No—No—No—" was in the monotonous tone a person says "Ninety-nine" when his lungs are being examined.
Mr. Hudson looked at me closely.
"Then—the story!" he said.
I blankly reached for my bag, opened it and took out the blank copy paper.
"Oh—damn—" he began, then swallowed.